


Where the Lovelight Gleams

by KannaOphelia



Category: Malory Towers - Enid Blyton
Genre: Bill and Clarissa are so married, Darrell Rivers (minor appearance), F/F, Fade to Black, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Miss Peters (minor appearance), Miss Peters ships it, Post-Canon, Sally Hope (minor appearance), They love each other so much, True Love, christmas pantomime, minor supernatural elements, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28250664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/pseuds/KannaOphelia
Summary: Clarissa put her hand close to Bill's. Not quite touching. Not quite holding hands. But close enough to let her pretend a little, and make her happy.
Relationships: Clarissa Carter/Wilhelmina "Bill" Robinson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Where the Lovelight Gleams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [regshoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/regshoe/gifts).



> Christmas Eve wil find me  
> Where the lovelight gleams.  
> I'll be home for Christmas...
> 
> Happy Holidays, Reg Shoe, and thank you for requesting my childhood OTP.

The Fifth Form Christmas term school pantomime had become a tradition, a terribly important legacy that Bill and Clarissa's form had handed on. Bill and Clarissa's riding school had also become a tradition, so Bill and Clarissa naturally attended.

It was _Dick Whittington_ this year, performed to an uncritical audience of excited girls and parents. Clarissa had been excited to see it. After all, some of the keenest pupils at the riding school were on stage. Instead, as always, she ended up watching Bill, even in the dark being able to see the wistful expression on the lean face, the faint smile on her lips and the line between her brows. Was she wishing they were back there? The panto term had been terrible in a lot of ways, the atmosphere in the form stifling with malice. Still, it seemed simpler compared to where grownup life had led them. Clarissa knew Bill had protected her, in her laconic way, from a lot of the unpleasantness. Always so dependable and strong.

Clarissa wanted to say: _Do you remember being the Baron? You stomped all over the stage in big boots and the other girls shouted with laughter, but I didn't laugh. It wasn't funny to me, somehow. But I was so proud when they all called your name and applauded. Everybody loved you, Bill. But not as I did, never the way I love you._ The words were as impossible to form as ever. Just as impossible as to explain the tight hand that had squeezed her stomach when she'd seen Bill, shining-eyed and flushed with laughter, taking her curtain calls. And the tiny, unspoken pride that universally adored as Bill was, the girl she chose as her special friend was mousy little Clarissa Carter.

She and Bill had talked for hours about horses, but never about that kind of thing. She had never asked if, when Bill hugged her after the performance, if Bill's fast heart rate was because of the show, or because they were pressing so close.

She put her hand close to Bill's. Not quite touching. Not quite holding hands. But close enough to let her pretend a little, and make her happy.

The lights went up again, and Bill was hoarse with cheering when she rose and was pounced on from behind.

"There you are!" Darrell hugged Bill as if she wanted to hug the life out of her, with an assurance Clarissa had never managed. "I hoped you'd be here! Sally is too--she's off congratulating her kid sister. Fancy our wicked Daffy as Fairy Bowbells and looking like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth." She leaned back, her eyes searching Bill's face. "How well you look. How are Thunder and Merrylegs? Fighting fit?"

She had found the right words to tide over any awkwardness. Bill launched into a tale of how terribly _clever_ Thunder had been when a new horse, too skittish for the pupils, had bolted, and Merrylegs had _comforted_ the rider, it was like he knew and understood perfectly. "Of course, they are too old to see much action now. But so awfully good."

"I'm certain they are the most spoiled old horses in existence," Darrell said fondly.

Clarissa hung back in Bill's shadow, glad and happy to see Bill so bright. There was a tiny spark of jealousy, perhaps, because Darrell had been Bill's friend rather than hers, although Darrell was always kind to her.

"Thanks for all the letters," Bill said awkwardly. "I know I'm no great shakes at writing back."

"That doesn't matter. Have you heard from the others?"

Bill nodded. "They've all been writing. Even Daphne, and I don't remember even talking to her. Moira of all people writes every fortnight. Even Gwen writes a lot. Did you know she's had a little boy? Lamenting she can't send him to Malory Towers to learn to ride with me, as if Gwen ever cared tuppence for horses."

"Imagine Gwendoline Mary with a kid of her own! Do you suppose she will drop him off to prep school in floods of tears?"

"They'll give him what-for if she does," said Bill, always blunt and rich in brothers. "Still, she's been surprisingly kind. I suppose even she had decent stuff in her, deep down."

Sally turned up, sister-less, and slid her own hand into Bill's arm. "Darrell, Eleanor wants a word."

Darrell rolled her eyes up with comical dismay. "I can never get used to calling her anything but Miss Grayling. The first time your Clarissa called Mam'zelle Rougier 'Paulette' I nearly fainted. Imagine, Clarissa! She used to almost faint herself every time Mam'zelle talked to her. I mean—I didn't—"

"Mam'zelle's far less intimidating when she's not our French mistress," Bill said agreeably, rescuing the situation as always. "Hadn't you better run and talk to Eleanor?"

Darrell gave her a grateful grin and left.

"How have you been?" Sally asked, quietly.

"As well as can be expected. The riding school is going well, although naturally it's more work than I planned."

"I know—I know we were never great friends, although I always liked you. I never was as horse-mad as you two. But if you like, you can always write to me." Sally was staring off across the crowds of girls and parents, her expression rigid. "I would listen to anything you have to say. I might—I might understand more than you realise." She slipped away, looking terribly grown-up with her black hair in a new bob, and Clarissa found herself wondering just how much Sally understood. Sally never talked much, but she always watched and listened.

There had been a diamond ring on Darrell's hand, but Sally's fingers were bare.

Bill wanted to leave quite early, after all. Clarissa wondered if she was trying to avoid having to invite their old school friends back to the stables for tomorrow. She wished Bill had invited them. She hated the thought of Bill choosing solitude because of her.

The wind was icy, and Clarissa could barely detect Bill's reddened nose peeping out from her scarf. Not too far away the great Atlantic swells boomed against beach and cliffs, but their roar was the only real sound once they left the lights and crowds of Malory Towers. It was a clear, lovely light, the stars bright and cold. Magic in the air, Clarissa thought. Just the two of them, and the Cornish countryside unfolding around them like something more than earthly. It had been nice to see the girls again, but Clarissa was never perfectly herself unless it was just herself, Bill and the horses.

And then—home. Their names painted on the gate, the prim official sign declaring the Robinson and Carter Riding School, and beneath that Belinda had painted for them in beautiful flowing letters, _Bill and Clarissa._ Their names together struck her heart every time she saw them. The pang was even sharper when she saw Bill brush a gloved finger over them, lingering.

The fire was low in the hearth, but the little kitchen was warm and cosy still. Bill built up the fire a little, and curled up in her armchair with a book. She had never been much for reading, though, and her pages stayed unturned a long time as she stared into the fire. Clarissa for her part just soaked up Bill's presence. At moments like this she could indulge herself, dream of tangling her fingers in those cropped curls, caress the cheeks that were freckled even in winter, wind their fingers together. Kiss along Bill's jaw, find the firm line of her mouth, press it with kisses until it softened. Impossible things that would never come true.

"Time for bed, old girl," Bill said at last.

Clarissa stayed still and listened to Bill's footsteps take the stairs. Not exactly a fairylike tread, but not the stomping she had made as the Baron.

"Goodnight, Bill, my dearest sweetheart," she whispered to the embers in the heart.

\-----

Elizabeth Peters drained her cup and set it down with a decisive clunk. "You're set on not going home to your family for Christmas?"

What _was_ set was the stubborn line of Bill's mouth. "Too many of the boys home."

"You used to love spending time with your brothers."

"It was always too noisy for Clarissa. Besides, there's the horses to think about. Can't take them all."

"You know I'd take care of them for you." Bill was mulishly silent, and Elizabeth sighed. "What about Clarissa's people? Lady Carter wrote to me that she'd invited you. She asked me to convince you to come."

Clarissa was startled. Why in the world would Mother write to _Miss Peters_? Mother was a dear, but hard to understand sometimes. Still, she supposed it made sense. Bill and Elizabeth had been close since Bill was a slap-dash and annoying tomboy in her form.

Bill shook her head. "I'm very fond of her, but I think they need Christmas alone."

"You _know_ you would be welcome."

"I never really fit in there anyway. No airs and graces at all." She gave Elizabeth a quirked eyebrow. "You know me. Rough tomboy."

"All right, if you're determined to hermit over Christmas." Elizabeth gave a defeated sigh. "You can always come to Malory Towers, if you change your mind about company. Paulette and I are staying over for the holidays, and you're always welcome."

Clarissa, who had seen them alone together once, an expression on Paulette's face so sweet and soft that her French pupils would have suspected she'd been switched by a fairy, suppressed a giggle. She suspected that Elizabeth was as keen on their time together being interrupted as she and Bill were their first Christmas together. What a _dear_ Elizabeth was, to offer in any case.

After their guest was gone, Bill said, "Just you and me and the horses for Christmas, Clarissa. It's all I want."

"It's all I ever wanted," Clarissa said, very low. She knew Bill couldn't hear, but it eased her heart to say so, anyway.

\-----

On Christmas Eve, late in the evening, Bill left the cottage. When Clarissa realised what she was going to leave with barely a coat, she fretted and fussed helplessly. Hadn't Bill _learned_ how terribly dangerous the cold was the last time they went and sat to listen to the waves and watch Christmas come in?

"Please, dear," she urged. "Gloves and a scarf at least."

Bill hesitated, then wrapped up, and Clarissa felt as if her heart was aching with relief.

There was no snow. There rarely was in Cornwall for Christmas. No cloud cover, either. The stars were almost too sharp as they made their way to the cliff path, Bill's lantern swinging in her hand.

"It feels like pixies are abroad," Bill said suddenly, then buried herself deeper in her scarf. If it was daylight, Clarissa was sure she could see her blushing. "You have bright green eyes like pixies, the girls said, and I thought, _she is like a fairy, so small and delicate and pretty._ First time I ever really noticed you, fool that I was. Only we weren't friends yet, you skittered away every time I spoke to you, and I didn't think you'd like a big tomboy like me going soppy over your lovely green eyes. Didn't think we'd have anything in common." She grinned suddenly. "Didn't know you were the most sporting horsewoman at the school as well as the prettiest."

Clarissa had been mostly hidden between thick glasses and braces and barely able to say boo to a goose in those days, and only Bill could possibly have thought her pretty. She wanted to cry. Or wrap her arms around Bill's waist and never let go. She could do neither, only follow in Bill's wake, hoping she would speak again.

The cliff path would have been dangerous to strangers in the dark, especially in that wind. But the girls had gone down it many times to pick seashells or talk or bathe, and the lantern was steady in Bill's hand. When they reached the beach, the wind like ice over the wine-dark ocean, the waves taller than their heads, Bill settled on a rock and looked out over the wild sea.

"Do you remember _our_ panto, Clarissa?" Bill smiled to herself, watching the rough waves. "Mary-Lou was so sweet as Cinderella, but I thought you should have been Cinderella." Clarissa wanted to laugh or cry. She would have been simply awful as Cinderella, wouldn't have been able to get a word out in her terror at being the centre of attention. Mary-Lou was shy enough, but Clarissa was awkward to the bone. Still somehow it felt wonderful that Bill saw her differently. "Only I would have been frightfully jealous and want to boot Mavis out as the Prince. Sweep you off your feet and dance with you and never, ever let you go." Her gloved hands were bunched into fists on her lap. "I didn't even realise that wasn't the same as the other girls felt for their special friends. I was always thick-headed. All I thought about was horses... and you.

"Then we moved in together and it was almost like we were married. Could pretend we were. Could pretend I could walk over when you were making breakfast, fancy that, Clarissa Carter in a tiny cottage making breakfast for me and _happy_ , I made you happy, and kiss you good morning. Used to lie awake at nights thinking about kissing you."

Bill, oh Bill. Clarissa hadn't known. Had been so grateful just to know she was the friend Bill liked best, that Bill chose to spend all her days with. She had indeed been happy, so ridiculously happy that it had seemed dreadful to dream of anything more.

"I meant to tell you. I thought, even if you were disgusted, you'd be gentle. You never had an unkind bone in your body. Always so decent. And I couldn't go on feeling like that without telling you how much I love you. I'd always sworn to be straightforward with you, and it felt like a lie. When we came out here last Christmas Eve, I was going to wish on the Christmas stars that I'd be brave enough to tell you I was in love with you, and you'd still be my friend." She leaned back on her elbows, staring at the stars.

"I meant to walk into the waves tonight," she added with terrible matter-of-factness, and dreadful horror swept over Clarissa. "Same place, same night I was stupid enough to let you get wet. And I'd been worried about your _heart_ , not your lungs. Always thick-headed. But I know, somehow, that's not what you'd want. You wouldn't even want me to catch a cold. You'd be fussing over me, _Bill, Bill,_ put your gloves on!" She chuckled, although her face was wet, and not with sea spray. "Clarissa, how am I supposed to keep on without you? I just want to be with you again. I wish... I wish... I love you so much I can't bear it. I would have died for you in a heartbeat, Clarissa, I would have done anything. I love you."

She buried her head in her hands and cried in earnest, the kind of deep, racking sobs that had come out of her by Clarissa's bedside, when Clarissa had fought through the dazedness and the fever and promised yes, yes, I will stay with you, I won't ever leave you. She had brought this on herself, she supposed, and she wouldn't mind, she _loved_ being near Bill, but to see her like this, to need to comfort and not be able to make herself seen or heard, was too much.

"I love you too," she said urgently, uselessly. "Please don't cry, please don't, my dear darling heart, I love you."

Bill looked up, and for a moment Clarissa thought she had managed it, had been heard. But Bill just stared at the stars.

"I wish we had another chance."

A falling star swept bright across the sky, towards the beach. Bill let her eyes flutter close, and sobbed again.

Clarissa tried, as she had tried many times before when Bill wept, to wrap her arms around the solid shoulders, hug and pat and comfort. She'd promised, when Bill cried by her bed begging her not to leave, to stay. But what good was it if Bill didn't know she was there? She useless tried to kiss the dear lips, and they were cold under hers. She moved instinctively to part them to find the warmth, and Bill's arms were around her, tight and strong.

"Clarissa?" Bill's voice was startled and longing. They pulled apart. "Clarissa? How could you possibly? I'm going mad at last."

"Bill. Bill, darling."

"I'm going mad." Bill started to laugh, wildly. "I don't even care. Clarissa, Clarissa, it's you, oh why are you wearing only a dress, you'll catch your death—" She bit back the words quickly.

"I'm _frozen_ ," Clarissa said. "Bill, look at my arms." She held out an arm, showing where the skin had broken out in gooseflesh. "I'm shivering. Feel my heart. Don't you understand? I haven't felt cold in a year."

That got through to Bill. She could never bear Clarissa to be in any discomfort. "We'll figure this out later. Right now, you need some clothes on."

They got back to the cottage somehow, both of them wrapped as well as possibly in Bill's coat and scarf as Clarissa simply wouldn't let Bill give them up entirely. Clarissa did allow the gloves to be put on her small hands. She was tucked under Bill's shoulder, and Bill was warm and _touchable_ next to her, she could smell her, feel her heat and breathing and the protective arm around her shoulder, and she could cling to Bill's waist the way she had always longed to. She was giddy with it.

"Do you think the horses can see me?" she demanded. "It's been simply awful, to be near Merrylegs and not have him respond to his name."

"I've taken good care of him for you, sweetheart."

 _Sweetheart._ Her unreliable heart danced at the name. "Of course you did," she said firmly.

"Do you want to go see him?"

"No. I only want to be with you. Just in case..."

In case tonight was all, she thought, but didn't say. Neither of them had asked the obvious: was she a ghost still? Would she vanish in the morning light, never to be seen again? There was a neat little tomb in the family keep, her name added to it, and Clarissa's old, too-fragile body must be there, surely... But this body was so deliciously alive and real. She was afraid to say so, in case it broke the spell.

In the still-warm kitchen, she turned in Bill's arms.

"I love you. I love you madly, desperately, and I never said."

"Clarissa, my _angel._ " And Bill's lips crashed against hers, clumsy and inexperienced and so full of _love_ , and there was only them.

\------

Bill woke in bed, drowsy from a wonderful dream. She didn't want to wake properly and chase it away. Clarissa... her sweet Clarissa. She could feel the tears start up again. She had always prided herself on not crying, but how could anyone lose Clarissa and not cry?

There was movement in the next room. Good old Elizabeth, she thought muzzily. Checking to see she didn't do anything stupid. And she nearly had. Selfish beast, not caring about worrying others. Bill had always had been self-centred, she knew. It was hard to care about in these days, when everything was consumed by grief and longing, by the need to imagine Clarissa always by her side. But she nearly had done something impossibly selfish and stupid last night. Clarissa would have been appalled, straight-forward, decent little thing that she was. Thank heavens Bill had fallen asleep instead, and been rewarded with such a lovely dream.

If only it didn't feel like waking had broken her heart.

She pulled herself up into a sitting position, and wiped the back of her hand over her eyes, just as the door flung open.

Bill stared across the room at a bright green eyes in a vivid pointed face under messy auburn waves. A pixie face. Clarissa had always seemed more fairy-like than human. Especially now, with her skin white as blackthorn blossom and her eyes even bigger than usual.

"It's Christmas morning," Clarissa said blankly. "Merry Christmas, Bill."

"Clarissa?"

"The tree is up. You didn't put the tree up this year." Those beautiful eyes were bigger even than usual, and Clarissa's face was very pale, but with two violently red spots. "There's presents under it. Bill, _You didn't have a tree this year._ "

"How could I have? Without you? Clarissa, you're—"

"My present to you is under it. New riding gloves. I slipped away when we were in London with Elizabeth and the two of you were chattering on. I was so frightfully _jealous_ but it gave me a chance to get you something."

"You're supposed to keep presents secret, you dunce," said Bill, aware as she said it that it was the most idiotic thing she could say under the circumstances. Clarissa responded by picking up a pillow and throwing it at her, and oddly, a pillow in the face convinced her things were real more than Clarissa's presence could. She spluttered and cast it down.

"Clarissa, you little beast, you— _Clarissa_." Her arms were full of warm, sweet, alive Clarissa, kissing her like she cared for her more than anything in the world, wanted her...

Later they curled into each other under the warm blankets. "I had the strangest dream," Bill said. She was stroking Clarissa's hair and felt she could never stop.

"It wasn't a dream." Clarissa shivered, and Bill pulled her close. She couldn't imagine how dreadful whatever Clarissa had been through was. "But I kept my promise. I didn't leave you. Oh Bill, you were so _sad._ "

"You're my world and I'd lost you."

"You could never lose me. My Bill..." Everything was lost in kisses for a while.

"I suppose we decided not to go to the beach at night after all. Or came home before I became too chilled. But why can I remember it?"

"How did it happen? Are you a fairy after all? I could believe it."

"Maybe _you_ are the fairy. You're the one who made the Christmas wish on a star. Maybe something heard. There say there truly are old spirits hiding around here. And we love this place so much, perhaps they listen to us."

"Darling angel Clarissa, you really _are_ uncanny."

"I wasn't even uncanny as a _ghost_!" Clarissa said, pouting, and Bill kissed her pout away.


End file.
